Maker’s Faire

There is this THING called a MAKER’S FAIRE, which is ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!

I went with Yvonne to the San Mateo Maker’s Faire this past weekend and we had such a good time.

First off, I got ROCK STAR PARKING along the street where the Maker’s Faire was being held.


Second, I found the PERFECT gift for MotherP whose birthday is coming up next weekend.


And finally, I got to order (and eat) a BIG FAT SAUSAGE at the Maker’s Faire, which thrilled my inner dirty girl.


My favorite part of the ENTIRE visit was the Dark Room – a dark warehouse filled with all sorts of projects that were lit up.

I stuck my head in a ball called the “hypnosphere” which was lined with lights and white faux fur.

It felt like I was in the womb and the feeling was a little creepy, but nevertheless awfully pretty.

So much to see!

Like cupcake cars going down the walkway.

A pet pig on a leash.

Or a sleeping compartment mounted onto the back of a motorcycle?

If you get the chance to attend the Maker’s Faire, you should definitely go.

So much artistic talent and creativity is on display, you’ll walk away feeling inspired to start your own projects!

Fashion Faux Pas

I showed up for a fundraiser with a cocktail attire dress code in my rainbow dress, a little white sweater and a yellow feather fascinator.

I thought it was cute and very Burning Man-ish, all those colors splashed across the dress.

Well, in retrospect, the dress perhaps missed its mark.

As it turned out, most of the attendees were wearing more classic colors – black navy blue, and white.

I was reminded of that time I walked into a San Francisco bar full of people in black coats wearing my full length red wool jacket.

Every eye turned to stare at the woman in red.

I felt like a rubenesque ‘Loony Tunes’ woman in a field of classy, slender Lehmbruck figures.

Do you remember that song from childhood, “One of these things is not like the others. . .”

See if you can figure it out.

I reminded myself of something I like to tell my sons about fitting in, “You’ll spend your childhood trying to fit in and your entire adulthood trying to stand out.”

There are perhaps worse things in the world than committing a fashion faux pas.

I’m always amused when I get myself in situations like these.

What do you do?

Hide in the bathroom?

Go home and change?

Oh no you don’t!

You stick it out and work it to the best of your abilities.

Which is exactly what I did.

And before I knew it, I was enjoying myself, chatting with new friends, and having a grand old time – the supposed garishness of my rainbow dress a faded, distant memory.

And despite my fashion faux pas, I STILL love that dress.

Sour toes

I know we all have our kinks.

I happen to like sniffing neoprene AND wearing black vinyl lingerie.

Scuba diving turns me on.

And my lingerie drawers are filled with slippery black undergarments.

I know we are helpless to resist our kinks.

Put me in a surf shop and you will eventually find me standing among the wetsuits.

Huffing them.

In my day, I’ve met men with unique kinks.


Toe sucking.

Wearing ladies’ panties.

But honestly, when I was text messaged by someone asking me if I wore flat shoes and had stinky feet he could sniff until he passed out, I was a bit floored.

No. . .

I suppose it’s not much different than me huffing neoprene, but the idea of sniffing someone’s sour smelling toes DOES NOT SOUND GOOD.

Having my feet ticked might appeal to me.

I am very ticklish and I have big feet so I’m sure I’d be a dream for someone to tickle.

And laughter is an aphrodisiac, so it’s feasible I could really get turned on.

But stinky feet?

No way.

I’d rather chew on a piece of tinfoil while shaving my head with a cheese grater.


May 13, 2016

According to Tinder, that’s the day that I first met The Swede.

Some of you have been asking how I met The Swede and the truth is I met him on Tinder.

He was on a business trip to the Bay Area from his home in Stockholm, Sweden and was looking for a tour guide.

I was online looking to meet someone cool.

I agreed to take him to Santa Cruz.

I love going to Santa Cruz and playing tour guide to people who are unfamiliar with the area.

We ate on the wharf, played air hockey (he won), and I made him take off his shoes and dip his feet in the Pacific Ocean.

I taught him to eat raw oysters, though he wasn’t a big fan.

He was soft spoken and shy, unlike me.

He left for home the next day and I thought I’d never see him again.

But of course I did see him on his next trip.

And his next trip.

And then I got on a plane and flew to Stockholm to visit him!

It took 3 dates to get him to kiss me, but now that we’ve kissed, the trick is getting us to STOP KISSING.

Well, the WHOLE reason why I’m writing this post is because it’s May 2018 – which means I have officially known him for TWO WHOLE YEARS!


Viking Porn

It’s been a long time since I thought about Charlie the Aussie.

Charlie was named after ALL HIS RELATIVES.

His had one first name – Charles – and 7 middle names.

If it sounds like he was royalty, that’s because he was royalty.

He was a Knight in the Order of Australia, an honor he received because he crewed a sailboat that sailed from Australia to the Orient (I’m not sure where, this detail has escaped me) as part of an anniversary celebration.

Charlie was magnificent.

He would run marathons in the wilderness.

He could sail ships (obviously) and if you blindfolded him and dropped him off in the desert with a Snickers and a liter of water, he would FIND HIS WAY BACK HOME, no big deal.

Needless to say, I really adored Charlie.

Sadly however, Charlie did not adore me back.

He had a wife (he was separated, not divorced) and a special needs son and in the end, Charlie went back to his wife and he quickly became just a fond memory for me.

So why do I bring him up now?

Well, Facebook has somehow figured out that I know him and keeps flashing his face for me to “add as a friend.”


Facebook knows what I shopped online for two days ago.

They flash it in my sidebar.

They also know what I had for dinner last night.

And they like to remind me of it daily.

So I’m surprised that Facebook hasn’t figured out a way to keep ex-boyfriends from showing up in your “Potential Friends” list.

That way lies nothing but sorrow.

I’m waiting for Facebook to figure out that I’m moved on from Aussies to Swedes.

Don’t remind me of Aussie disappointments.

Show me some Viking porn.

The Makeout Thread

Sexting has been replaced with the Makeout Thread.

It’s basically a group of women who share their interests, activities, and love lives with each other.

Sometimes there’s a graphic picture or two.

You know me  – how I love to flash my boobs. I dare say they’ve gotten more exposure on the thread than Kim Kardashian’s Paper magazine cover.

Okay, maybe not QUITE that much.

The Makeout Thread feels a little like “Sex and the City” meets “WWF.”

It’s raw. Uncensored. Explicit. Rough.


It feeds my inner voyeur while allowing the outer exhibitionist to run free.

It turns me on when my own love life is slow and needs a little inspiration to pick me up.

Because I really need to know about the girl who’s in a Dom/Sub relationship with a man who has two other girlfriends.

Now when would I ever get to experience the excitement of THAT in my life?

And the parade of tits and pussy shots are incredible. I didn’t know you could get tattoos in some of those places, but apparently YOU CAN!

Sometimes I just sit back and think how many men would kill to see the comments and pics I see.

The bottom line is that I AM VERY LUCKY.

Lucky to be in a community of women who share their lives with me.

Lucky to be in a community of women who embrace all forms of desire.

Lucky to be a part of an INCREDIBLE group of women who live EXTRAORDINARY lives.

Lucky. Lucky. LUCKY!

EVERYONE should have a Makeout Thread.

Cat and mouse

My son decided to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day by sending me a SnapChat of him with a HUGE HICKIE on his neck which he got on a trip to Paso Robles.

He had a BIG smile on his face.

I quickly took a screen shot of his SnapChat (he later deleted it off my phone).

I showed it to my mom.

She sighed.

We’ve all been sorta hoping he’d settle down a bit with the young woman he took to the prom.

But no, apparently he’s still sowing his wild oats.

And (no judgment here) he should be.

He’s 18!

Back at home, I asked him when his prom date came over, “So what did she think of your neck?”

He said, “She offered to mark the other side.”



Kids are growing up fast these days!

It took me YEARS to get over the idea that I MUST create a relationship with EVERY man who interests me or be labeled a SLUT.

Kudos to these two young adults for not forcing the issue and just enjoying each other’s company.

I like a woman confident enough to hold her own in the face of another woman’s hickie.

Who is the cat and who is the mouse?

You really can’t be sure now, can you?

Rainbow Bright

I have fallen in love.

No, it’s not what you’re thinking.

I’m not quitting my job and moving to Sweden.

Oh, my Swedish is ATROCIOUS!


I’ve fallen in love with a summer dress.

Don’t you just love it too?

I have a fundraiser coming up and I’ve decided I’m going to wear it for the fundraiser.

I bought a pair of yellow heels:

And a cute little yellow flower fascinator to wear.

I’m not sure why I get captured by outfits the way I do.

I’m going to a Village meeting this Saturday and I’m wearing a steampunk outfit to that:

But this rainbow striped dress?

So lovely!

This post will make you squirm

When I was growing up, I CONSTANTLY had to wipe pee off the toilet seat.

You see, my dad is a germaphobe and he taught my brother to LEAVE THE TOILET SEAT DOWN while peeing.

Needless to say, my brother’s aim was off.

I can’t tell you how gross it was to forget to check the toilet seat and to sit down and feel the wetness of someone else’s pee on the backs of your thighs.

Then I got married and lo and behold my ex-husband was trained to LIFT THE SEAT.

And he did.

I’ll let you in on a secret: I don’t really care if the seat is up, I just don’t want there to be pee on it.

What can I say?

I set the bar low.

My ex-husband taught my boys to lift the seat but lately, I’ve noticed that someone is leaving the seat down and peeing on it.

Once I figured out which one of my spawn it was, I confronted him.

But the seat-peeing has continued.

So. . .

In order to make a point, I left a bloody wad of toilet paper in the toilet.

Because I know it grosses my boys out to see blood in the toilet.

I see your pee on the seat and I raise you one bloody wad of toilet paper.

I win!


This blog post isn’t pretty.

Nor is it fun and lighthearted.

It’s serious.

It’s the C-word.

No, not THAT C-word (which I HATE with a passion).


Both my grandmothers died from gynecological cancer at a young age and I hate that cancer robbed me of a chance to meet them and get to know them.

I was 22 when I was reunited with my birthfamily.

So when I had my latest PAP smear come back irregular, I panicked a lot.

My doctor called me in for a biopsy.

Now for those of you who DON’T have a cervix, imagine a soft, delicate organ hidden safely within the depths of your body.

Now imagine someone using a harsh bristle brush and a device to CUT away pieces of that organ,

Ouch, right?!

BIG ouch.

To make matters worse, the doctor used a COLD speculum which almost lifted me out of the stirrups!

She grabbed her samples of my misbehaving cervix, and swabbed my nethers with something that looked like Dijon mustard which stopped the bleeding.

“So what do you think?” I asked.

“Your cervix is UNREMARKABLE,” she informed me.

Never was I happier being described as being unremarkable.

So now. . . the waiting game.

Is it pre-cancer? Cancer? Just a blip in my medical record?

Only time will tell.

But until the test comes back, there’s nothing to do except rest my mustard coated vagina, and try to chill the fuck out.

Wish me luck!